Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Zeddie straightened his baldric with its two big dueling pistols and cocked his roosterlike eye toward Sempala, as if to warn in advance that the slightest insult would mean trouble.

  “It’s all right, Zeddie,” she whispered. “By now they’ve all heard about the upcoming betrothal.”

  “Don’t forget, Pitt has Lord Felix on his side.”

  “I’m not forgetting. But we have Baret.”

  She walked across the hot dusty yard, and Sempala came to meet her. For a moment the noise of the slaves ceased, and silence prevailed. Eyes shifted to the contrasting sight of sweet loveliness in lime green silk and lace invading the world of squalor, sweat, and torment.

  Emerald stopped and waited in the intense sunlight. Most of the slaves went back to work, but one young African girl stood barefoot, staring.

  Sempala stopped a few feet away, holding his cane hat. “Welcome home, Miss Emerald.”

  “Thank you. Where’s my cousin Minette?”

  The deliberate use of the word cousin wasn’t lost on him, and his gaze shifted to the dirt. “Out back of the boilin’ house. Mister Pitt wants an eye on the molasses at night. Says slaves been stealin’ syrup.”

  Emerald looked scornful. “I suspect he is his own thief. He always did smuggle it to pirates at Chocolata Hole.”

  “Yes, Miss Emerald. If you say so.”

  “Is Minette in the cookhouse?”

  He hunched his broad shoulders as though to loosen the taut muscles and glanced away. “She was.”

  Alarm set in. “Was? Where is she now?”

  “Sick. She’s been sick days now.”

  “Sick?” she repeated, her alarm increasing as he avoided her eyes.

  “Got sweating sickness.”

  “Where is she?”

  He shifted his feet. “Out back, Miss.”

  “Out back where?Quickly, Sempala!”

  He moistened his lips and kept his eyes on the ground. “In my hut.”

  Emerald’s jaw tightened. Zeddie took a step forward, but Emerald laid a hand on his wrist. She handed him her closed parasol and, picking up her skirts, began to run across the yard toward the cluster of huts and buildings, ignoring the slaves, who again stared in silence. Some moved out of her way, knowing Minette and Ty were her cousins.

  Sempala groaned as he trotted just behind her, followed by the scowling Zeddie, who had drawn a long-barreled pistol. His temperature was obviously rising.

  “I didn’t hurt her none!” Sempala protested.

  Emerald stopped in the midst of some huts, breathing hard. The sweltering sun beat on her head. “Which hut?”

  He pointed. “That one.”

  Emerald walked briskly toward the small round thatched shack whose door already stood ajar. Flies were drawn to the shade. A sickening odor filled the stifling air. She looked at some naked children squatting in the shade of a breadfruit tree.

  The sweating sickness. She hesitated before going in, fearful of the condition in which she might find Minette. Mustering her courage, she prayed silently and then stepped through the doorway into the hot, dimly lighted hut.

  Emerald held to the door frame for support, staring down at the thin figure drawn up into a fetal position on a dirty blanket in one corner of the floor. She found herself protesting the sight. This girl couldn’t be Minette. Not this scrawny sick figure in a tattered tunic.

  Emerald went toward her and sank down beside the blanket, unmindful of the luxurious folds of her silk skirts. Her eyes anxiously searched her cousin, as close to her heart as any sister could be.

  “Minette,” she whispered, reaching for her gently, noting the torn calico slave frock and her bare dusty feet.

  Minette moaned in terror. “Don’t touch me—”

  “Minette, it’s Emerald. Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to help you—to take you away from here.” She smoothed back the wild honey-colored ringlets that stuck to Minette’s face. Her skin was terribly hot, and her frock was soaked with sweat.

  Minette’s amber eyes stared upward, dazed. She tried to speak, but her throat seemed parched.

  “It’s going to be all right now,” whispered Emerald.

  “Em—” Then came a cracked hysterical cry. “Em—rald!” Tears ran down her face, leaving little trails in the layer of dust.

  Heedless, Emerald grasped her frail quivering body to her own as Minette sobbed.

  “Oh, Emerald—”

  “Hush, it’s going to be all right now. I’m taking you away. You’re going to be better soon.”

  But would she? Emerald looked into the thin face. What would she do with her? She couldn’t bring her to the Great House yet. She must take her to the manor house, where she could nurse her until Baret arrived in a few days.

  She laid Minette back down on the blanket and disentangled her weak grip. “It’s all right,” she repeated. “Lie still. We’re leaving here. I’ll call for Zeddie.”

  Minette tried to clutch her, to keep her from leaving, but Emerald stood to her feet and hurried to the hut door, holding back her dismay.

  Zeddie stood waiting out in the hot bright sunshine.

  “Zeddie! Can you carry her? We’ll bring her to the manor house.”

  “Aye. That scurvy shark Pitt,” he grumbled between his teeth as he walked in. A look of pity showed on his face as he neared the old blanket and looked down at the girl. He stooped and gathered up Minette to carry her away. “Looks like plague fever to me—and if it is, she won’t be the last to come down with it.”

  Plague! Emerald held back a wince of horror. If it was, the sickness could indeed sweep the plantation, leaving few, if any, alive, including the family in the Great House.

  “The doctor will know,” she said worriedly. “Geneva’s personal physician is likely to be rooming in the house.”

  Emerald came out the hut door, followed by Zeddie carrying the childlike figure of Minette.

  Sempala loitered nearby and shifted his stance as his eyes followed Zeddie.

  “It wasn’t me who did this to her. It were Mister Pitt. He wouldn’t let me call for no doctor—”

  Emerald was more concerned over the kind of sickness that was ravaging Minette’s body than she was angry. Sempala was right. If anyone was to blame it was Mr. Pitt—Pitt and the family in the Great House.

  “Have you told me the truth about not touching her?” Emerald demanded, looking him evenly in the eye as he towered above her.

  “Yes, Miss, I told the truth. When she got the fever, Mr. Pitt got mad and told me to take her. I been looking after her, me and the old woman Ngozi sent. Said he’d skin me if I touched Miss Emerald’s cousin. And that pirate been asking for her too. Farrow was his name. But I don’t trust him neither, so we didn’t tell him where she was. He thinks she run away to the mountain.”

  A silent breath escaped her. Thank you, Father, for protecting her.

  “Then you need not worry, Sempala. You’re right about who’s to blame.”

  He lowered his voice. “You come at a high time. Seeing your cousin Ty is down from Blue Mountain. He is in a heap of fire. Good thing you is dressed like a chieftain’s daughter, ‘cause Mr. Pitt is plannin’ himself a skinnin’.”

  Emerald whirled toward him, her eyes meeting his deep gaze, unsure whether she had heard him right. Did she see friendliness in his eyes or secret contempt?

  “Ty?” came her dread whisper. She held the sides of her skirts. “He’s here?”

  He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the boiling house, where steam fumed up like clouds of sulphur mist.

  “Ty was a fool. He come for his sister, but Pitt found him. Nobody escapes Mr. Pitt and his hounds.”

  Emerald’s fear grew like the disease that threatened to suck the life from Minette—until she remembered who the new Emerald Harwick was. Pitt couldn’t hurt Ty! She wouldn’t allow it. Not this time.

  “Where is Ty?” And her voice sounded steady.

  Sempala looked toward the dusty road. “Mr.
Pitt has him at the stockade. He and Minette was goin’ to try to run away to a pirate ship with that Cap’n Farrow. Pitt, he learned about it.”

  Emerald’s heart chilled with fear and loathing. She knew well enough what it meant that “Pitt has him at the stockade.” Without a word she hurried after Zeddie.

  Zeddie brought Minette to the buggy and was laying her down on the small backseat when Emerald approached.

  “Bring her to the manor. Then go to the Great House for a doctor, will you? I’ve got to loose Ty!”

  Zeddie turned. “Loose Ty? M’gal, the sun’s gone to ye!”

  “Pitt has him in the stockade!”

  “Good mercy, I ain’t lettin’ you go there alone. Captain Buckington would call me to the yardarm for neglect.”

  Emerald climbed into the seat. “Then hurry. We’ll bring Minette to the manor first. Oh, I wish Baret were here. He’d know what to do.”

  “You’re doin’ fine, m’gal, and you’ve got his name to shield you.”

  As Zeddie drove the buggy away, Sempala came to stand near the road, holding his whip in one hand and Minette’s hoe in the other. A beaten look showed on his tired face, as though he was resigned to knowing he would never see Minette again.

  3

  TURNING TRAGEDY INTO TRIUMPH

  Fringed palm trees bit their tall slim trunks up through the warm brown soil of Jamaica and stood like pillars against the August morn.

  Some distance ahead the manor loomed into view—a tall, narrow white house with a profusion of red roses crawling up toward Emerald’s window. She remembered dreaming as she’d sat alone at that window, arms on its sill, thinking of her father sailing the Caribbean. She had imagined him coming home with treasures enough to sweep her away on his horse and ride her up to the front porch of the Great House, where the family would welcome her. It hadn’t been her father but Baret who had put substance to her dreams.

  She hurried up the steps to the door. It was unlocked, and she went in, followed by Zeddie carrying Minette. Mr. Pitt had made few changes in the manor, she saw, but his presence could be felt, and she resented him all the more.

  Emerald hurried across the room over the woven cane floor mats. The heavy window shades were drawn to keep the heat out, and she stopped at the hall table to light a carrying lamp. There was a steep flight of short steps covered with indigo-dyed hemp, and she began the climb, leading Zeddie with Minette.

  “It ain’t likely Lady Sophie will send Miss Geneva’s physician. More’n likely I won’t get past the front door. Maybe I should ride to Murdock’s plantation. That old indentured midwife he has can come help.”

  “I want a physician.”

  The upper hall was quite narrow. She walked past the small gallery that her father had built, remembering the first time Baret had come to Foxemoore and how she thought he had come to see her father about family debts. Baret had crossed the room below and stood just beneath the crow’s nest gallery to study the wall-length tapestry in the same manner in which she had seen her father do so often, moodily meditating. She saw that the tapestry, depicting the battle of the Spanish Armada of 1588, was gone. It had been her father’s favorite. Fire ships were floating toward the galleons, culverain were exploding, and the English and Spanish swordsmen were boarding ships as hundreds of seamen were falling overboard.

  Had Pitt sold it?

  Her room waited in musty shadows, airless and hot.

  “Put her on the bed, Zeddie, then go up to the house and ask for the physician. By now everyone knows about Baret and me. They won’t refuse.”

  She drew back the hemp shade and opened the window, letting in fresh air and the chatter of parrots. Little had changed in her old room, but it seemed an aeon had passed since she was last here, just after the slave uprising. As she had expected, Pitt had made a shambles of her room in his fruitless search. Her bureau drawers were upside down on the braided oval rug, and her old trunk with its broken latch had been emptied. As if she would sail for England and leave behind anything as precious as a property deed or Rafael’s jewels, she thought wearily. Greed made the man blind to his folly.

  “Emerald, is it really you?” came Minette’s feverish whisper. “Am I dreaming? You look like an angel…”

  Emerald went to the bed and sat on its edge, taking her hand, aware of the blisters and calluses, broken nails and scratches. These were the hands of a field slave.

  “It’s me,” she said gently. “I’ve sent Zeddie up to the house for the physician. You’re going to get better soon. Are you thirsty? I’ll go to the kitchen. Pitt must eat sumptuously,” she said a little bitterly. “I’ll see if I can find something.” She stood, hesitating as she looked at the filthy tunic. She had to get Minette bathed and into clean clothing at once.

  “I can’t eat … water, please—” She raised herself to an elbow, anguish written on her heart-shaped face. “Pitt has Ty in the stockade again. We almost escaped, Ty and me. Then he found us with the hounds—” Tears spilling from her amber eyes as her memory reviewed their nightmarish capture spoke far more clearly than words.

  Emerald gripped the worn bedpost. “I’ll take care of Ty as soon as the physician arrives.”

  Minette stared at her through feverish eyes. “You? But how?”

  Emerald managed a smile. “I’ve so much to tell you, but it must wait. Only—oh, Minette, I’m going to marry Baret Buckington!”

  Minette blinked dizzily as though trying to fathom what was happening. “Marry—” she repeated. Her voice faded, then her eyes widened, and a weak smile came to her lips. “Vapors! No wonder you look so beautiful—”

  “You’re going to look just the same before this is all over,” Emerald assured her. “Horrors, that tunic is filthy. I’ve got to get you cleaned up. Oh, why didn’t I think to tell Zeddie to bring Jitana to help me?”

  “Married to Captain Foxworth,” murmured Minette, with a far-off look in her eyes. The news appeared to send a sudden surge of strength rushing through her veins, for she managed to sit up. “Why, you’ll have as much to say at Foxemoore as Lady Sophie and Miss Geneva.”

  Emerald’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, I will, won’t I? If Baret backs me up.”

  “He will. He wouldn’t have said he’d marry you if he didn’t want to stand with you.”

  “We’ll talk later. I’ve a hundred plans! But now—” She hurried downstairs into the back cook room.

  The smell of stale pig fat clung to everything, and she grimaced when a huge cockroach darted across the table. Pitt had turned Jonah’s spodess kitchen into a slop house!

  Gingerly she searched the floor cabinet for food, but it was too much to expect of Pitt to keep his food in order. A loaf of brown bread sat out on the round butcher table, the honeycomb had left a sticky mess, and there were ants. She supposed he merely flicked them aside when he ate. Nothing seemed to bother him. And he fancied that he could become a great planter and host the governor. The thought brought a laugh to an otherwise sober moment.

  Continuing her search, she located overripe mangoes, bananas, and soft crab apples, all clouded by fruit gnats. In tropical weather, food spoiled quickly. The screen door had been left unlocked, and outside on the porch a slab of smoked pig hung on a rope from the roof. Flies droned sleepily, content with abundant feasting as they settled over it. Emerald’s thought of carving a slice for a sandwich surrendered to loathing. If the choice was between flies or ants, she’d take a few ants with the honey.

  At least there was a covered barrel of clean water, which had recently been filled. There would be more than enough for Minette’s bath before Zeddie needed to refill it. She remembered Ty in the stockade and hastened to fill a small jug to temporarily quench Minette’s thirst and wash her face. As soon as Zeddie came back, she would take the buggy and confront Pitt.

  Cautious footsteps sounded, and she stopped. Zeddie couldn’t have returned this soon. Still carrying the water jug, she left the cook room for the front hall. The door was open, and a familia
r African slave stood there, a dignified old warrior with the eyes of an ancient elephant and a weaving of gray at his temples. His tan shirt was torn and damp with sweat.

  A smile appeared on Emerald’s face, and relief swept over her. It was Ngozi. How long ago it seemed that she had hidden him under her bed on the night of the uprising, when Pitt and other armed planters had ridden up with muskets. Twenty slaves who instigated the rebellion had been hanged the next morning, a memory that even now brought a sick feeling to her heart. But the Lord had helped her save Ngozi, and he had not forgotten her kindness.

  Before she had left Foxemoore to meet Jamie Bradford, expecting to sail with him to the American colonies, Ngozi had come quietly to the manor and left her a gift. It was still among her treasured keepsakes, an item that reminded her of a spiritual victory. He had left a blue head scarf with his name written on it with dye. The name Ngozi meant “Blessing,” and on the cloth was an African lion decorated with beads and woven pieces of dyed hemp.

  “Ngozi,” she said.

  His broad face, glistening with sweat, softened. “Yes, Miss Emerald, it’s Ngozi. We come to help you. Me and Yolanda.”

  Out from the shadows came the old woman who had once cared for Great-uncle Mathias in his illness. Yolanda had come to faith in Christ through Uncle Mathias. Her head was covered with a sun-faded yellow bandana, and she carried a battered woven basket that Emerald was acquainted with from the past. She knew it contained African cures for sickness, dried herbs and salves made from bark and other secret ingredients.

  She smiled wearily at Emerald. “You bring me to the child, Miss Emerald. I’ll take care of her. You’ll get yourself all mussed up in that pert gown. Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you nor little Minette. None of us forgot what you and Mr. Mathias did for us. The singing school was a lighthouse in a dark place. We still mourning ‘cause it got burned down. Every Sunday some of us visits the grave site of Mr. Mathias and Jonah too, and we pray the singing school will live again.” Her eyes gleamed expectantly. “Now that you be home, maybe the Lord answered our prayers. All of us know how you’ll be moving up to the Great House.”